


galaxies in your eyes, flowers in my heart

by Elysabeth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backgroud Shallura, Drama Queen Lance, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Neighbors, Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysabeth/pseuds/Elysabeth
Summary: Lance meets his neighbor, grows flowers, almost dies, paints the universe and falls in love. Not necessarily in this  order.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this behemoth is a gift for my wonderful friend [Jess](http://generationofskittles.tumblr.com)
> 
> HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!!
> 
> you can thank her because i would have never written this without her. i literally had no idea what hanahaki disease was before she asked for it. also, this has is so much more romantic and angsty than my usual writing.
> 
> part of my nanowrimo of this year
> 
> enjoy!!
> 
> you can join me on [tumblr](http://elyteracy.tumblr.com)

Lance puts the last box with the others next to the window. He sings out loud with the song. " _In the name of looooove._ "

Hunk makes a face when he enters the room. He mouths at Lance to turn the music down, which Lance promptly ignores.

He dances in the middle of the room, exaggerating every moves he does. Hunk rolls his eyes at his antics, but grins. He can't help finding Lance funny. Lance always finds a way to make him smile. They've known each other for so long, it isn't a big challenge anyway.

Pidge sends him a unimpressed look when they enter with their own boxes in their arms. "You should be banished from this apartment for your taste in music."

"Rude!" Lance gasps, a hand on his chest. His taste in music is impeccable.

"I swear, I've already heard this song twenty times on the radio today," Hunk points out.

Lance dismisses their comment with a wave of their hand and undertake the hard challenge of singing the highest notes of the song. He fails spectacularly, but that doesn't deter him from his rendition.

The doorbell rings.

Lance jumps, startled. Then, he beams. The neighbors are apparently already here to welcome them! He's looking forward to it. He springs to the door and opens it, beaming.

He's greeted by a pretty looking South Asian guy with black hair, indigo eyes, and a scowl. "Your music is too loud."

"Wha- Are you our neighbor? Nice to meet you!" Lance grins. "I'm Lance."

The guy raises an eyebrow. "I don't care who you are. Please turn your music down. I'm working."

Lance crosses his arms. "You could at least introduce yourself before being an asshole."

The guy blinks, looking confused. "Why do you need my name? I'm just asking you to turn your music down. Or sing quieter."

Lance sighs. "Fine. I will turn my music down and sing less loudly. What a _pleasure_ to meet you."

He smiles at his neighbor and closes the door in his face.

"What an asshole," he spits.

Hunk pulls his out from his box of kitchen appliances. Pidge is entangled in various electronic cables.

"He was a bit rude, I suppose," Hunk concedes.

"Though he did have a point," Pidge says, their voice muffled from the box they just stuck their head in. "Your singing is horrifying. It's enough to make Michael Jackson raise from his grave just to make you stop."

Lance flips them off and promises himself to take revenge from his jerk of a neighbor.

__

The opportunity presents itself earlier than he thought.

A week in, his stuff is finally completely unpacked. He adjusts the last poster on his wall, a black and white picture of Lady Gaga, next to his Queen Bee poster.

A loud crash startles him.

He pokes his head in the living room but Hunk and Pidge are both sleeping. He can hear Hunk's loud snores, and no mysterious glow is coming from under Pidge's door.

It's 3 am, he should not be hearing weird noises. He steals a pan from the kitchen, determined to defend himself in case he gets attacked.

He thinks it came from the apartment on his right.

He knocks. No sound comes. Just for curiosity's sake, he tries the knob. The door opens with a cracking sound, eerily familiar to the ones you can hear in horror movies. Lance does not like horror movies. He's convinced (quite rightfully too) he'd probably die in the first few minutes anyway.

Or at least the first half. Only white characters die after the first half, the lucky bastards.

Anyway, he steps into the room. It is bare. The walls are blank and the light is on. There's a couch on his right, a tv precariously standing on a three-legged Ikea stool (he saw it in the catalog earlier), and a desk covered in papers.

The door to the balcony is open. Who the hell goes on their balcony in the middle of November? Not Lance for sure. It's cold as hell outside and he values his limbs. His fingers are an essential important part of his boy, thank you very much.

He feels a bit guilty, entering a stanger's apartment without an invitation. He reassures himself with the fact that he does have a legitimate reason. He's concerned for the guy...girl... person living here.

He makes his way to the balcony. He shivers as cold air rushes under his thin t-shirt.

No one is here.

He looks around. Checks over the railing, just to be sure. He doesn't find anybody. Turning around, he almost trips on a cable. Swearing, he slowly steps over it. It continues his course over him, to the roof.

That's when he spots the ladder.

He grips his pan in one hand, and starts climbing. The cold metal bites into his fingers. His makes his way up, grimacing. The wind is stronger here, and he's beginning to regret his decision.

He's now convinced he would be the first person to die just because he's the one who decided to check the fucking threatening sound. He has no survival instincts, he admits it to himself.

He tightens his hands around his makeshift weapon. He tiptoes around the roof.

He finds a guy standing on an unstable stool. He's plugging some cables on an antenna he does not recognize.

It's the middle of the night, no one can blame him if he thinks he's hallucinating at first.

He realizes it's his rude neighbor.

"You-" He shouts.

He startles his neighbor who loses his footing, and ungracefully falls on the floor in a tangle of splayed limbs. He groans loudly, face twisted in pain.

Lance murmurs a terrified prayer for forgiveness. He fucked up. Bad.

He runs to where the guy landed. He bends over, checking over the injuries. His neighbor blinks, glaring. Lance assumes he can't be too badly hurt if he can still glare.

"Sorry, man, I didn't think this through," he apologizes. "Though, what you were doing was quite dangerous."

"I did not ask your opinion," his neighbor mutters.

He sits up, grimacing. He rubs his elbow. Lance steals a glance. Except from a couple of bruises he should be fine. 

Lance raises his hands in surrender. "Chill, no harm, no fool." He grins apologetically. "I'll buy you breakfast as a sorry."

"It's 4 am."

Lance grins. "Time is an illusion, man."

His neighbor wrinkles his nose. It's a cute gesture. "It is...not? I mean, yes, the second is a unit invented by men but-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, dude. It was a joke!" Lance interrupts. He attempts to pat his neighbor's shoulder, but gets his hand slapped away. "Sorry, sorry. So, are you in? I know this delicious place a couple blocks down. I'll teach you about meme culture."

"I don't see why I need to be instructed." His neighbor frowns, confused eyes sweeping over Lance's face.

"It's a very important part of our generation. Come on, you can't say no to churros."

"I don't know what it is?"

"Oh my god," Lance says, dramatically "We need to correct that right now. You cannot say no, I have a duty to make you taste the great gift from God churros are."

"I- Okay," his neighbor gives up.

"Come on, mullet boy, I'll pay."

"My name isn't mullet boy. It's Keith."

"Same difference," Lance teases, smiling.

___

Twenty minutes later, they are sitting in a dinner. Keith is munching on churros, enjoying them.

The place is almost empty. Apart from them, a few other patrons are eating. A guy in a suit with slicked black hair and a mallet, and who looks like he could belong to the mafia, is sitting at the back of the room. An elegant Chinese woman, who seems completely at odd with the setting, drinks tea quietly. And finally, two girls slumped on each other are eating pancakes. A couple, Keith realizes, when one of them brushes her lips against her girlfriend's.

"So, why the fuck were you on the roof tempting the devil?" Lance asks. Keith ignores him. He chucks a piece of fry at him.

"Fuck off."

"I'm paying, the least you could do is answer my question," Lance points out, petulant.

"I needed the antenna," Keith mutters.

Lance chokes on his fry and coughs loudly. Keith hands him his drink with a bored look on his face. Lance gulps it down with exaggerated motions. "You needed the antenna," he repeats in disbelief. "What for?"

Keith steals a fry from his plate. "A project." He shrugs.

"What type of project requires you to get an antenna?"

"A physic one, for a broke student."

Lance laughs. "I know the feeling, man. What are you working on?"

"It isn't your business," Keith rebuts him. "I've only met you, I don't need to answer."

"Dude, you suck," Lance complains, and throws a fry (again) at him. Keith makes a disgusted face, crunching his nose. It is oddly adorable, and Lance promises itself to catch it on video one day.

He changes the subject by getting up. Keith sends him a confused look. Lance smiles at him, and points at the counter. He buys two fortune cookies. The woman gives them to him, thanking him in Chinese.

He sits back at the table, offers one to Keith. Keith shakes his head. "You have to," Lance refuses. "I paid for the fries, and so you have to eat the cookie. And tell me your fortune."

Keith sighs, rolling his eyes. He takes the cookie. "This is stupid."

Lance grins. He opens his own, breaking it in half. "What'd you got?" he asks Keith, before reading his own.

" _The line between pleasure and pain is thin_ ," Keith reads.

Lance snorts. "Dude, I think your fortune cookie is telling you to get into BDSM."

"Don't be ridiculous. What's yours?" Keith deflects.

"Mmmh... _Flowers can be as much of a blessing as a curse._ Weird."

Keith nods, eating. "It is."

"Soooo, you still won't tell me what your project is?"

"No."

"Cooome oooon."

"Still no."

"You suck."

"You already told me that. Two minutes ago."

"It didn't change in between."

"I'll make you tell me," Lance declares. "I swear it on this fry!"

Lance pays for both of them, as he promised. Keith makes a face, but he doesn't protest. Much.

__

"I haven't heard you complaining about our neighbor in a while," Pidge notices. They look at Lance over their laptop screen.

Lance is on the floor, playing pokemon on his DS. "Keith, you mean?"

"He has a name now?"

"Wha- Oh, yeah. We had breakfast together the other day."

"You mean the day you came home at 6 am and complained about weird fortunes?"

Lance frowns. "Was I? I don't remember that."

"I do. You were complaining about how useless fortune cookies are. I think you talked about flowers. I wasn't really paying attention."

"I can't believe you were not paying attention to me, Lance! Your best friend!"

Pidge sends him a deadpan look. "My best friend is my laptop. Hunk is your best friend."

Lance opens his mouth to retort, but they are right. "Fine, you win this one."

"And all the others before?"

He purposefully throws a pillow at them. Pidge shrieks something about their computer. The glare they sent Lance is enraged. "You've just signed your death sentence, Spanish boy."

"I'm Cuban!" Lance protests, his voice squeaky from the terror of Pidge planning his demise.

They throw themselves at him.

Hunk finds them sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The living room is a mess around them, and he just turns around and ignores it. Lance and Pidge snicker at his hasty retreat.

"You know, Keith, the neighbor, he doesn't have much people over," Pidge says. "I've barely heard him go out, too."

Lance thinks about it. It's true, he realizes now that Pidge pointed it out.

He hasn't heard anyone come in to talk to Keith. He isn't even sure Keith lives to go grocery shopping sometimes. Which, like, true it's crazy cold outside so he can understand Keith wouldn't like to leave, but that's just weird for a college student. Retrospectively, he hasn't seen anyone since he visited. Or broke in? Is it a break-in if the door is open?

"I think you are right, I haven't seen him much either. Actually, apart from last month, I've only seen him twice."

"Gotta be a bit lonely," Pidge says. "I wouldn't like being all by myself even though I don't actually like people."

Lance is a people person. And he would hate it.

That's why, he decides he'll drag Keith out of his room, even if he has to use force for it.

__

He shows up two days later with a box of cookies made by Hunk. Keith opens his door, bundled in a big sweater. Lance almost chokes on his on tongue from how cute he is. He scolds himself internally. He should not be fraternizing with the enemy.

"Hi Keith! Looking good."

And, nevermind.

Keith tilts his head, looking confused. "Do you need something?"

Lance can't say he hasn't been expecting it. At least, Keith's tone is significantly nicer than the first time they met. "I'm bringing cookies. Hunk made them, he loves cooking, you know? Sometimes Pidge and I, my other flatmate, we'll find him cooking at 8 am."

"That's nice?" Keith is looking more and more confused. Lance realizes he's maybe started rambling, and hasn't quite explained why he's here. "So, yeah, he made a lot. And when I'm saying a lot, it's like a looooooot. I thought I'd give you some?"

"Oh," Keith breathes. He looks at the box in Lance's arms, blinking. "Um... thank you, I guess." He tugs at his hair long hair, looking nervous. "Do you... um... want to come inside?"

Lance beams, all proud of himself. "I'd love to!"

Keith steps aside, opening his door. It hasn't changed much from the last time he came. A new and only poster has appeared on the wall. He notes the kitchen on his left. He guesses the apartment is a two-room.

"Do you want something? I'm not really a coffee drinker, but I have instant?"

Lance makes a face. "Please don't. I respect myself too much to suffer through instant coffee."

"Oh, sorry," Keith says, looking slightly dejected.

"I mean, if you have tea, I'll be fine with that."

He gets a small smile, and mentally punches in the air. "I do. I mean, I do have some tea. I have several teas even," Keith says.

"Black is fine, I'm not going to adventure myself into weird tea flavors."

Keith doesn't laugh, but there is a sparkle in his eyes which is the closest thing Lance has ever seen on him. Keith is pretty, Lance thinks, not for the first time. He has sharp and defined features, beautiful eyes, long dark eyelashes, and pink lips. Lance could also mention broad shoulders and strong-looking hands. The only drawback: his horrifying fashion sense and his unfortunate haircut.

No one in 2016 should be wearing a mullet.

Keith brews the tea and waits patiently in front of the electric kettle. Lance looks around. The apartment doesn't look lived in. He, Pidge and Hunk have been living for a bit over a month in their own, and it looks a lot more used than Keith's.

"How long have you been living here?"

Keith turns around, a pensive look on his face. "One year. Around that."

Lance thinks that Pidge really was right. It is a bit sad. He wishes Keith looked more comfortable with him and his place looked more lively.

Keith fills two cup with tea, and brings it to the coffee table. He offers sugar to Lance, which he promptly dumps in his cup. Keith makes a face, scowling a bit. He crunches his nose. Lance winks at him and Keith huffs, returning his gaze to his own cup.

"So, what do you study?" Lance asks, curious about Keith's life.

He nods. "I'm a Master student in Astrophysics. I'm doing my thesis now. I hope I can finish it fast."

"Damn, you must be a head. It does explain why you don't go out much. Physics students are reputed for having no life. And being very smart."

Keith ducks his head. The tip of his ears are slightly red. "I suppose. It's true I don't go out much," he admits. "I'm not... very social."

That's an understatement, Lance wants to say, but he doesn't want to piss Keith off. "You should come over on Friday night! We have a weekly trivial pursuit night."

"A trivial pursuit night?" Keith repeats. He makes a confused face, pursing his lips. "That does not sound... I mean you don't really look the type? Not that I mean you look stupid," Keith adds as an afterthought.

Lance gasps. "How could you even think that for a second? I am incredibly smart!"

Keith makes a pained face. "Sorry I didn't mean-"

Lance laughs. Keith frowns, his mouth slightly open. "You suck at jokes, Keith," Lance teases. "I'm not offended at all, man. I got it."

"You are a jerk."

"I will ignore any insult coming out of your mouth as long as you have a mullet."

Keith runs his hand self-consciously through his hair. Lance's lips can seem to go down, and he ends up grinning harder. "I don't see what my haircut has to do with it?"

"It's terrible."

Keith sighs. "Trivial pursuit?" He changes the subject.

"Oh right!" Lance says, back on track. "It has a twist. If you can't answer the question or you get it wrong, you have to take a shot. So, you'll come?"

Keith seems to ponder a handful of seconds. Lance smiles at him, hoping his charm will sway Keith. He wishes Keith will come despite himself. "Fine. I'll come," Keith accepts.

His stomach makes a little somersault. He grins. "Don't look like I forced you, man."

"You aren't," Keith promises. He gives Lance a tiny smile. Lance is pretty sure angels are swooning in heavens. "I'll come."

__

Lance hears a hesitant knock. He almost jumps to the door. "Calm down, Casanova," Pidge tells him from their place at the table, setting the game.

"I don't wanna hear anything from a literal spawn from hell."

Pidge laughs. "You love me anyway, fucker."

Lance flips them off on his way to the door.

Keith is standing on the other side. He's wearing a _I want to Believe_ hoodie. He may have broad shoulders, but he seems to be drowning in it. _Adorable_ , the very much not straight voice in Lance's head says. He ignores it.

Keith holds up a bottle of whiskey. Lance grins. "Hi, and thanks. I'll be honest, I didn't think you'd actually be coming."

Keith sends him a blank look. "Would you have let me in peace if I hadn't?"

Lance shakes his head. "Definitely not. I would have pounded on your doorbell until you'd come."

"You are an annoyance," Keith says.

"I can confirm!" Hunk chimes in from the kitchen. He enters the living room drying his hands on a towel. "Keith, right? I'm Hunk. Nice to meet you."

Lance gasps, a hand on his chest. "Betrayed!" He exclaims. "By my best friend, my own brother!"

"You are such a drama queen," Pidge sighs.

Keith smiles, small but genuine, and Lance has half a mind to kiss them for the gift he just got.

"Please come in," Hunk ushers Keith in.

Keith steps inside. He takes his shoes off, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. "Thank you for the cookies last time." He bends a bit down. "They were delicious."

Hunk almost hugs him, but Lance stops him with an 'abort mission!!!' gesture from behind Keith's back. He gives Keith a wide smile instead. "Don't be so formal! I feel like a grandpa!" He chastises Keith. "But thank you, I'm really glad."

Lance jumps on the couch. He pats the seat next to him, indicating at Keith to come sit next to him. "Pidge always sits on the floor, and Hunk prefers the chair since it's easier for him to go to the kitchen."

"Is Pidge your real name?" Keith blurts out. "Shit sorry, I shouldn't have asked that." Lance laughs. Keith glares at him.

Pidge looks up from their laptop, sends Lance an unimpressed look. "No. My name is Katie Holt. I prefer Pidge, though. And my pronouns are they."

Keith nods, and tangles one finger in his hair. "Sorry. I'm not very good at words."

"Do you even remember out first meeting?" Lance reminds him. "You were rude as fuck."

"And your singing is torture."

It's Pidge's turn to laugh. "Can't say I disagree!"

Hunk's amused laugh echoes in the kitchen. "Hunk, traitor! Twice in less than ten minutes! You are demoted from best friend status. Keith can be my new best friend."

"I'll pass," Keith says, as he reaches for the red piece.

Lance shakes his head, fake crying. "I can't believe you all are rejecting me like that."

"Just pick your piece," Pidge sighs.

Lance takes the blue. Pidge adds their own green one in the middle, and Hunk's yellow.

Once everyone is ready, the cake Hunk was preparing is in the oven, and the bottles of alcohol are lined up, they start the game.

Keith, as the guest, starts. He rolls a three. Pidge takes a card and reads: "What is called the white part of the inside of the egg?"

Lance watches Keith as he thinks. He stares at the ceiling, and after a moment he shakes his head. "I have no idea."

Lance grins. He takes one of their shot glasses and pours one for Keith. "Bottom's up, mullet boy."

"Stop making fun of my mullet." He drinks the shot in one go, and slams the glass on the table. Pidge whistles.

"Got ourselves a true drinker, Lance," they praise. Keith smiles, a bit shy.

Hunk is next. He rolls five. Lance takes a card and makes a face. "No, that's unfair. He will know."

"Life's unfair, Lance," Pidge retorts. "Just read the damn card."

He sighs. "Easy one for you, big guy. What is in a Harvey Wallbanger Cocktail?"

"Vodka, Galliano and orange juice."

Lance leans into Keith. "Hunk worked as a bartender during summer break," he informed Keith. "that's why it's cheating."

Keith shrugs. "It's the game. You know, you win." He grins, a competitive look on his face.

Lance's heart thumps in his chest. Keith smiling is a gift to this world and he will let no one tell him otherwise.

"Be ready to go down, pretty boy!" Lance challenges him.

Keith turns bright red, his eyes wide. Pidge snickers from their place on the floor. Lance finally realizes what he just said.

He chokes, hides it behind a cough, and decides to never mention it, ever.

Hunk takes a piece of a piece, and fits it in his pie, grinning. "My turn again since I answered right." He throws again. He moves his piece.

Pidge takes a card. "What does gymnophobia means?"

Hunk shakes his head, smiling goodheartedly. "I have no idea." He serves himself a shot of whiskey and drinks it in one go. He grimaces, apparently not a fan of the taste. Lance pats him on the back and then rubs his shoulder.

"Well done, big guy."

"Okay, next player."

It's Lance's turn, finally. He rolls the dice and lands on a five. "Fire the question, Pidge."

"What shark is thought to have been the largest ever on Earth?"

Hunk makes a sound. "Damn, this one is hard."

Lance grins, victorious. "Megalodon," he answers, rightly.

Pidge whistles, impressed. "Didn't think you'd get that one."

"Special rule! Special rule!" Lance urges them.

Keith frowns, confused. He tugs at Lance's sleeve. "What's the special rule? You haven't told me."

Lance grins. "When one of the players answers a particularly difficult question, they get to invoke the special rule and all of the other players have to drink."

"The question wasn't that hard," Pidge protests.

"I mean it was pretty hard," Hunk says. "But Lance is gigantic nerd, so it was to be expected."

Pidge nods sagely.

Lance makes an affronted noise. "I am not a gigantic nerd! I am a very popular young man."

Keith snickers. "Popular," he repeats. "And I'm straight." Three pairs of eyes turn to him, blinking. He looks around, his gaze settling on Lance. "What?"

Lance... well, Lance is doing a small victorious dance internally. If he did hear correctly (and damn he wish he did) he may have a chance with Keith.

"So, Keith, buddy... you are not straight?" Hunk asks, with the gentle tone of people who are genuinely interested in your life.

A rare breed.

Keith tilts his head. "I just told you that. I joked about it, even."

Pidge pats his leg. "It's no problem, dude. We were just surprised, no one's judging you," they reassure him. "Lance's sexuality is close to 'flirts with anyone remotely attractive' and my own is 'please don't'."

Lance would protest at Pidge's description of his sexuality but it is, to his own despair, quite accurate... He's just a bit sad to be all alone, okay? He likes being in a relationship.

"Oh," Keith breathes. "And you, Hunk?"

"Tragically heterosexual," Lance desolates himself.

Hunk laughs. "The only one of our group. The token straight." He winks at Keith.

"I see... Well, I'm gay," Keith precise. "Are we going to drink, now?"

"I am still not convinced the Special rule should be used in this case," Pidge complains even as they already reach for the tequila bottle.

They serve everyone, including Lance. He tuts. "I'm not drinking."

"Seeing as the legitimacy of this situation is contested, I think it is natural you drink too."

"Sounds fair to me," Hunk agrees.

Lance presses his shoulder to Keith. The boy doesn't flinch away, which Lance takes as an acceptance and a small victory. He smiles at him, that one charming smile he knows people are partial to. "You are on my side, aren't you Keith?" He drawls.

Keith blinks, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. He has a tiny mole on his left eyelid which Lance hasn't noticed before. "Shut it and drink."

Lance squeaks. He cannot believe Keith betrayed him like that. "Fools!" He curses. "The whole lot of you!"

"Calm down, drama queen," Pidge sighs. "No need to revert to Disney insults."

Lance grumbles, slightly offended by Pidge's dismissal of his insults, but drinks.

The night follows in a similar fashion. By 1 am, all four of them are thoroughly drunk, although Keith is clearly the most affected.

His face and neck are flushed and Lance can't help but wonder how low it extends. He keeps giggling to himself, hiding it behind his hands.

"You can't hold your liquor," Lance teases him.

Keith glares at him. The effect is a bit dampened by how unfocused his gaze is. "It's because of my-" His eyebrows knitted together, he frowns. "I forgot the word. Like the alcohol?"

"Genes?" Pidge supplies.

They aren't looking entirely sober either. Their glasses are askew, and they're flopped on Hunk's belly like a starfish.

"Genes, yes!" Keith almost topples over in his excitement. "I am Korean."

Lance laughs because Keith is hilarious in this cute awkward way of his.

Also because he passed from tipsy to frankly intoxicated half a bottle ago.

"Come on, I'll bring you back to your bed."

Keith nods, and rubs his nose. He takes Lance outstretched hand. Lance pulls him up. He stumbles, almost falls over Lance, but avoids it. Even drunk, he doesn't seem to like touching people much.

Keith stumbles to his bed. Lance keeps a hand close to his back in case he falls.

The only thing Keith falls in is his bed. He curls up around his pillow, a bit like a cat. Lance has the absurd urge to brush his ridiculous hair from his face.

Keith makes a small humming sound and looks blurrily at Lance. "Are you my friend?" He mumbles.

Lance wants to laugh, but Keith seems oddly serious. He kneels next to Keith's bed. "Yes, Keith, I am your friend."

Keith smiles, a little bit goofy, a little bit absent-minded. "Nice."

Lance's heart feels wound too tightly in his chest.

__

Throughout the week, Lance drops by Keith's place randomly. Keith usually welcomes him, and when he doesn't it's because he's busy.

Two Mondays later, he finds a tall, stunning black girl with white hair standing in front of Keith's door.

He checks around him, but Keith is nowhere to be seen. He leans on the wall, sends a charming smile. "Hi. I'm Lance," he greets her. "What's a pretty lady like you doing here?"

The pretty lady in question raises her head from her phone, and stares blankly at him. "I would appreciate if you never called me that again," she says, coldly, with a strong British accent. "And I am here to visit Keith."

Lance coughs, surprised from being rebuffed so strongly. "Yes, sorry, I won't do it again. Keith isn't here?" He pouts. "I had cool stuff to show him."

"Oh!" She says, looking like she discovered a new interesting mystery. "You must be Lance."

"I... am?" He confirms, hesitant. "And you are...Keith's... well not girlfriend obviously."

"I'm Allura. I'm his brother's girlfriend, actually," she introduces herself. She extends her hand to Lance, who shakes it, a bit dazed.

"I didn't know he had a brother," he admits.

Allura frowns. "Keith is... quite private But anyway, I am awfully glad I met you, I have these-" She rummages through her bag. "-for Keith. He loves ice hockey, but he will never let me convince him to come with us. Shiro and I, I mean. I understand he may be feeling awkward... third-wheeling if you will. Please tell him we couldn't make it and that's why we are giving him the tickets. If I hear he didn't go because he heard it was a gift, I must warn you, you will have problems."

Lance takes the tickets. "I- Sure, yes, it sounds like-" He stares at the paper in his hands, and the smile on Allura's face. It looks cold and ruthless, and he fears a bit for his life. "-a very good idea. I'm not... sure who he'd go with, though."

Allura pats his cheek. "Don't be daft," she chastises him, which is very efficient with her British accent and goddess-like looks. "With you, obviously."

He must have been making a weird face when he comes back to his apartment, because Hunk sends him a concerned look. "Are you okay dude?"

He shakes his head. "I think I've just been threatened by a member of the British royalty to go to a hockey game with Keith."

Pidge's laughter echoes in the entire apartment.

__

The game is in two weeks. It takes him three days, a lot of encouragement from Hunk and snide jokes from Pidge, to finally knock on Keith's door.

He stands there, shuffling, the tickets behind his back. Keith opens the door in a horrifying mustard color jumper, and Lance chokes on a laugh.

"What's your problem?" Keith snaps, his arms crossed. He has deep bags under his eyes, and Lance feels concerned and a bit guilty.

"Your color of your sweater is an atrocity," he declares.

Keith looks down, blinking. "I- Oh, I didn't realize I put that on. It isn't mine."

Lance snickers. "Right, like I'm gonna believe you."

Keith purses his lips, a hand on his hip this time. "Are you actually here for something, or just to piss me off?"

Lance raises his hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I did come here for a reason. I met your brother's girlfriend."

"Allura?"

"Yes. She came to give you this." He hands the tickets to Keith, who takes them, scrunching his nose. "Your brother and she couldn't go. That's why they are giving it to you."

"And why are you the one who has them?"

"We met outside your door. You weren't there?"

Keith makes a pensive face. "Oh yeah. Must have been when I went to uni for some books" He looks back to the tickets in his hand. "You should come with me." He sends Lance a determined look.

Lance obviously accepts. One, because he values his life and Allura is truly terrifying. Two, because he kind of does want to go. Especially with Keith.

__

It's 1pm on a Friday afternoon. The game is in two hours, and Lance is ready. He bundled himself in a thick coat, and big bright blue scarf and a beanie.

Keith comes out of his apartment only wearing a sweater with a flying saucer and the crude drawing of an alien, and a cap with a Native American's head. Lance doesn't know enough about ice hockey to identify the team.

He can identify, however, that Keith is clearly not dressed enough for winter weather.

"Go get a jacket, right now," he orders. Keith glares at him, but Lance doesn't bulge from his place in the entryway, blocking Keith from going out.

They stay standing there for a good ten minutes. Keith is a stubborn asshole, but Lance has many younger siblings and may have become a bit of a mother hen through the years.

Eventually, Keith gives up. He makes a point to tell Lance he didn't back down, he just doesn't want to miss the game.

Once Keith finally has a scarf and jacket, they get going. They'll spend a bit of time in the subway, but Lance doesn't mind.

"So what team are you for?" Keith points at his cap with a deadpan look. "I have no idea who that is," Lance admits. "I don't know anything about ice hockey."

Keith doesn't smile, but, he brightens up, all excited. "Chicago Blackhawks! I used to live there. I've supported them since I've been a kid."

He starts explaining the rules to Lance, who doesn't follow much.

He gets distracted by the way Keith seems to light up talking about ice hockey. Keith talks about history, which Lance has, honestly no interest in, but nods anyway. He talks about his favorite player, goal rates, a lot of numbers who go over Lance's head.

He realizes what he's doing when Keith goes on a rant about who is supposedly the best team of last year NHL season, and he can't take his eyes off him. He shakes his head, trying to clean up his thoughts.

But the mole under Keith's lips on the left is awfully attractive, and Lance really wants to kiss it. He wonders where else Keith may have moles.

"Are you even listening to me?" Keith asks.

"Um... Yes, of course... Maybe..." he tries and realizes Keith isn't duped. "No. I completely zoned out."

He excepts Keith to become angry or at least irritated, but he only rolls his eyes and goes silent, a small smile on his lips.

Lance wonders if he can maybe ask more tickets from Allura.

He really _really_ likes this Keith.

__

Lance knows Keith is competitive. He's seen it first-hand during their game of trivial pursuit. But watching Keith stand up and yells curses and insanities at the opposite players is still very entertaining.

Keith whoops when one of the Hawks slams a player into the wall. Lance winces, not used to such violent game. Keith apparently revels in it.

"Have you already played?" He asks, to distract himself.

"Yes, I still play sometimes," Keith answers. "I used to be in the university team during my bachelor, but I didn't have the time anymore after I graduated."

He sits back down. He takes off his cap, and ties his hair up. Lance has a minor heart attack. His hair out of his face, Keith's features look even sharper. His fair skin brings out his dark eyes. Keith sends him a little loop sided smile . "I do miss it, though. Maybe I can find a local team."

God, he is so gay.

At the first break, Keith stands up, patting the back pocket of his jeans. Lance sends him a questioning look.

"I'm gonna buy something to eat. Do you want anything?"

"Fries," Lance answers without hesitating.

Keith laughs. Lance follows the column of his pale neck. He'd taken off his scarf earlier. "Obviously," Keith says, and shakes his head.

It's true fries had been an important part of their meeting. Lance can't help but chuckle too.

Keith comes back ten minutes later with a box of fries and ice cream. Lance eyes the frozen treat with suspicious eyes.

"Ice cream should be banned in winter."

Keith scowls. "Shut up. Ice cream in winter is great. It doesn't melt."

Lance considers it. Keith opens the ice cream, dugs his spoon in and closes his lips around it. "Fine, I will consider your argument," Lance allows. He diverts his gaze to hide the fact he's been tracking Keith's mouth around the spoon.

"It' goo'," Keith articulates his mouth filled. "Do you want some?"

"No," Lance refuses.

Keith shrugs and goes back to eating.

He goes crazy when the referee whistles the end of the game and the Hawks win. He even throws an arm around Lance, which frankly freaks him out for a second, because _what the fuck Keith is willingly touching him he must be in Heaven_ -

Once his crisis gone, he thoroughly enjoys the contact, though, and does his best to commit Keith's warmth to memory.

__

They make their way up the stairs giggling like a pair of teenagers. Being 22 years old means these years aren't far behind, though. (But Lance would preferably cut one of his toes than admit it).

They try to shush each other. It's late. They went out a bit after the game, drinking and enjoying their win with the other Hawks supporters. Keith had even bought him a piece of pizza 'Chicago style'. Keith called it deep dish pizza, Lance had decided it was closer to a pie than a pizza. He hadn't voiced his opinion obviously. He values his life and Keith's friendship.

Keith hasn't touched him again, but the space between them has shrunk to only a couple of centimeters. Their shoulders sometimes brush as they walk. It is comfortable and very welcomed on Lance's part.

As they reach the top of the stairs, Keith grabs his hand. Keith's hand is smaller than his own, but wider, more calloused. Lance can't deny he likes it. "I'll show you something," Keith whispers, grinning.

Lance would like a review of his life because he does not remember the moment it swung into romcom territory.

Keith leads him inside his apartment, then to the balcony. He starts climbing the ladder to the roof.

"Are you planning on killing me there?" Lance asks, grinning.

Keith rolls his eyes. "I haven't planned on killing you, but even if I did, it wouldn't be here. It's stupid. A bunch of people has probably seen us together. As you neighbor, I'd be on the list of suspects right away. Killing you at the game would have been harder to pull off, but with far less risk of being discovered."

Lance blinks. "Hold your horses, Agatha Christie, this is just too much information."

Keith arches an eyebrow. "Who would think you'd know Agatha Christie."

"I resent that." Lance flips him off.

Keith laughs and extends his hand to Lance. "Just climb idiot. I'll show you something."

Lance follows him on the roof. The project Keith has been working on since they met is covered by a plastic cover to protect it.

"What is it?"

"A makeshift probe. I'm trying to pick up sound from space."

Lance stares at the machine and then at Keith and his alien sweater. "Are you trying to prove aliens are real?"

Keith turns bright red. "No, I do not!" He denies vehemently. "Not for my master's thesis at least..."

Lance laughs. "I knew you were a nerd. You believe in aliens!"

"I don't see how that makes me a nerd," Keith protests. "It's quite reasonable to think, with how big the universe is, other lifeforms exist somewhere."

"This is exactly what a nerd would say."

Keith huffs and rolls his eyes at him. Lance follows him with his eyes while he pulls out a sheet from a box against the wall. He sets the sheets on the floor, and pats the seat next to him.

Lance raises an eyebrow. "Are we going to stargaze?"

"Yes, is that a problem?"

"No, no. It's just... that's pretty gay, dude," Lance jokes, grinning.

"I am pretty gay," Keith deadpans.

Lance feels laughter bubbling in his throat, and smiles widely. "You are funnier than I thought, Keith."

The tip of Keith's ears are red, and Lance enjoys immensely that he is the cause. "Just sit, and shut up. I want to show you my favorite constellations."

"Fine," Lance accepts, and lies down next to Keith. He can feel the warmth of his body against him, so close, and has to resist the urge to brush his fingers against Keith's hand.

Keith points at the stars. "It's hard to see the night sky in the city, you know."

"Were you a country child?"

"When I was very young, yes. Before I was adopted by the Shirogane, I used to live in the countryside in Korea."

"Oh, I didn't know," Lance says because there isn't anything to say.

Keith turns his head toward him. His eyelashes cast spidery shadows over his cheeks. His eyes are a deep purple, the same color as the night sky. "I barely remember my birth mother. I just have this memory of her, looking at the stars. I think... I think that's what convinced me to study astrophysics."

Keith sits up, hugging his knees. Lance gazes at the gentle curve of his shoulders, the sharp knob of his spine, visible through his t-shirt. "I'm not very good at making friends," Keith confesses. "I get... nervous. And snappy. I don't know how to deal with people."

"Yeah, I got that."

Keith sends him a sideway glance. "I prefer to be by myself."

Lance's belly feels all wrong and twisted. His stomach is all fluttery and he thinks maybe the last three chicken wings were a bit too much. "Don't you miss people, though?"

Keith ducks his head, looking ashamed. Lance's hand hovers over his shoulder as he waits for the authorization to touch Keith. He nods at Lance, a tiny movement. Lance rubs his shoulder gently. "I get lonely," Keith admits, in a small vulnerable voice.

Lance's heart feels all squeezed, and his throat is all closed up. He can't quite help the surge of affection that rushes through him.

Lance has the urge to hug Keith. "Come over," he blurts out. "When you are feeling lonely. Come over. Pidge and Hunk are the most welcoming people in the world. Well, maybe not Pidge. I'm still convinced they made a pact with a demon. I swear to God, they are the literal spawn of Satan, sometimes."

"You are not being very convincing."

"Oh, no. They are only like that with me. They adore you. Seriously I don't see why," he teases, winking at Keith. The boy wrinkles his nose. Lance wants to smooth his thumb down the bridge of his nose.

"You are a jerk," Keith pouts.

Lance grins. "A lovable jerk," he corrects. "But anyway, Hunk literally can't hate anyone. I promise you, there's something missing in his brain. He doesn't have the hormone necessary to create hate."

"You are ridiculous."

"And you haven't seen me at my worse."

Keith smiles, all soft and endearing. "I'm less lonely since I met you."

Lance plays with the hem of his jacket to distract himself. "I... I am not very good at this but... I suppose I owe you a secret, don't I?"

"You don't have to."

Lance shakes his head. "I kind of do," he corrects. "I want to, it's fine."

A light is turned off in the building in front of them. Lance doesn't even know the time, but it must be quite late. Or early, depending on your point of view. Early hours are hours of truths, he supposes.

"I come from a big family. I've never really been alone. Even when I was by myself in a room, I could still hear my mom, or one of my siblings. I had to leave home for university, and started living alone. The first year didn't work well. I barely passed my classes because... it was so silent," Lance explains. "Usually, people go to the library for the quiet but I went to the library because it wasn't. Did you ever notice that? The library is never silent. People coughing, the sound of pages turning, typing on laptop. All these sounds, they were comforting."

"Did you continue living by yourself, after?"

"No. I met Hunk, and we moved in together. It was much better. Hunk is so caring. I'm really glad I met him. Pidge was added to our group the last year of our bachelor. We've sticked together ever since. They are a bit like family, you know? My family away from home, I suppose." Lance chuckles at the thought.

Keith tangles his fingers in his hair, the way he does when he is nervous. "I've never... really had friends, apart from Shiro and Allura. I spend a lot of time watching stars because they are comforting. They make me feel a bit like home," Keith murmurs. "I'm glad you are my friend, Lance. You... help me be more comfortable with people. It's nice."

Lance presses his shoulder to Keith. He thinks about the way his heart speeds up when he sees Keith, how it feels like it's in his throat when Keith laughs. Keith is so earnest, and Lance just-

Lance doesn't want to fuck up what they have. Their friendship is a bit wobbly, a bit like treading on needles, and Lance's feelings for Keith are quite similar to a minefield.

"I'm glad I'm your friend, too, Keith." He grins, and grips his jeans to keep his hands occupied before they can do something stupid. "So now, no more sulking in your room by yourself, emo prince. When you're feeling bad, come over. Promise?"

Keith smiles, a warm, grateful thing. Tears prick at Lance's eyes, and the butterflies in his stomach feel closer to sharp cactus, now.

"Promise," Keith whispers.

__

Lance wobbles back to his room, feeling queezy. The chicken wings were really too much. He stumbles into the bathroom, pukes his guts out in the toilets. A spot of white attracts his gaze, but he's already flushed the toilets.

It looked suspiciously like a petal.

__

It's been a week since Keith and Lance went to the hockey game.

Lance has developed a nasty cough during that time.

Lance flies open the door to Keith's apartment, and plants himself in the middle of his living room, his arms crossed. Keith stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth open and his pen just over his paper.

"We have been friends for two months now, Keith, aren't we?" He asks.

Keith's eyes dart around, as if looking for an exit. "Yes?" He answers, and he doesn't look quite comfortable. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Yes!" Lance declares. Keith flinches. "Your birthday. You did not tell me your birthday was on December fifth."

Keith blinks. "Should I have?"

Lance crosses the room in two wide steps and pokes Keith in the chest. "Yes, you absolutely should have." He sighs exasperated. Keith's lack of understanding in how caring friendships work can be quite amusing. Yet, most of the time, it just makes Lance kind of frustrated and a bit sad. "Now, because of you, I only have two weeks to create the perfect gift for you."

"Oh no, it's really not necessary, Lance," Keith tries to reassure him, but Lance is having none of it.

"I have made it my life mission to make you less awkward, and if it involves throwing you a birthday party, and spend the next two weeks freaking out over what the fuck I am going to give you, I am ready for it," Lance announces.

"I don't think-"

Lance cuts him off with a finger on his lips. Keith's mouth is small and a bit chapped. Lance makes a note to give Keith some chapstick. "I will hear none of it. Do you understand?"

Keith nods.

Lance coughs, his hand on his mouth. When he opens his fingers, there are petals in the palm of his hand. He grimaces, and quickly hides his hand in his pocket to get rid of the evidence.

Keith sends him a concerned glance. "Are you okay?"

Lance thinks about the petals he's been coughing for the past two weeks, since they went to the ice hockey game. It's been steadily getting worse. "Yes, I'm fine." He plasters a smile on his face. "Just a cough I caught playing the idiot outside."

Keith seems reassured. He smiles crookedly. "You don't have to play the idiot. You are naturally one."

Lance laughs, genuine this time.

__

Finding a gift for Keith is not an easy task.

Actually, it's very hard.

Lance doesn't give banal gifts. No clothes, no kitchen appliances, none of these boring stuff. He always finds the weirdest thing, the one thing that fits, because well... He's Lance. His signature move is to find original gifts for his friends.

It's a bit hit or miss, it's true, but no one will ever be able to accuse him of not spending time on them.

He's gone to three thrift shops, and for the moment, only one thing has caught his eyes. A silver jacket A silver jacket who reminds him of the first Men In Black movie. He can't help but think about Andy Warhol and his weird costume every time he looks at it. If he added a set of pins, it could make a nice gift.

The jacket isn't expensive, and he buys it. It doesn't feel exactly right, though. He can't offer it to Keith for his birthday, but it will make a nice Christmas gift.

He wanders around the streets, hoping to somehow fall onto the perfect gift.

It isn't be looking at the vitrines of the shops that he finds it.

He's coming back from a very late lecture. It had run until eleven, and by the time he made it out of university, it was nearing 11:30.

Some students are already giggling in the streets, dressed in their party clothes, and probably a little tipsy for the majority of them.

He spots two girls with paint on their body. Probably phosphor, to make it lit up with UV lights. Lance supposes there is a rave in the neighborhood.

That's when it clicks.

Glowing paint. That's what he need.

He rushes back home, grabs his laptop and throws himself on the sofa.

Hunk looks at him. "You have a weird face on."

"It's his mad scientist look," Pidge supplies from the kitchen. "You know this look, Hunk, you,ve known Lance for longer."

"Yes," Hunk admits, "but it always means he has a stupid idea. Or he is planning something stupid, or something completely Lance-esque."

"Which is almost a synonym for stupid," Pidge says, with a reasonable tone, nodding wisely.

"Shut up, the both of you," Lance orders. "I have found Keith's gift. It's gonna be legendary."

Pidge grins. "That promises to be exciting."

Lance clicks on an image to turns his laptop around. "That's what I'd like to do."

Both Pidge and Hunk stare at the screen longer than necessary. They glance at each other. "What?" Lance asks, exasperated. He does not like it when his friends have silent eye conversation without him.

Hunk clicks on the picture, inspecting it further. "It is very pretty," he comments. Pidge hums. Lance knows they are not telling him something.

He takes back his phone, glares at them. "What?"

Pidge crosses their arms, playing innocent. Hunk coughs behind his hand, looking away. The guy is practically incapable of lying.

"It is... very... I don't really know what word to use?" Hunk hesitates.

Pidge sighs. "Let's get it over with, seriously," they mutter. "This is very gay, dude."

Lance scoffs. "I resent that! Although I am a little bit gay but not..." He starts to deny it, but catches himself. "I may be a little bit gay for Keith, fine," he acknowledges.

"Why don't you tell him?" Pidge wonders.

Lance thinks about the soft words Keith has murmured. I'm glad you are my friend, Lance. Keith had put his trust in him, and Lance doesn't want to break it. He wasn't about to make their friendship uncomfortable and isolate Keith once again, just for stupid feelings. They would go away.

"I can't."

Hunk lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Why not, buddy?"

"He's just- He's just so damn annoying! I can't accept to have feelings for him. I'm gonna bury them so deep, they are just going to disappear and never come back!" He lies. He puts on a brave face, a hand on his chest, like a soldier ready for war.

Pidge raises a suspicious eyebrow, but doesn't seem to catch on his act. Hunk just rolls his eyes, pats his head a few times, and goes back to his room.

Something scratches at his throat. He coughs, throwing a hand over his mouth hastily. "You okay?" Pidge asks him, concerned written on their face. "You've been coughing for a couple weeks, now."

"I'm-" He coughs again "-fine. It's just a nasty cough I caught. It'll go away."

Pidge frowns. "Go see the doctor. If you haven't by the end of the week, I will drag you there myself. Understand?"

"Understand."

__

He can't stop bouncing his leg as he waits for his doctor appointment. He didn't want to come, but it was better to come by himself than with Pidge. It is much easier to hide any problem when the source of all answers could be found in the next room dressed in a white coat. And Pidge, even with their tiny size, is terrifyingly persuasive when they need to.

He coughs in his elbow. He picks the petals out of his sweatshirt, and hides them in his pocket. He looks around, checking if anyone saw him. A mother and her child are quietly discussing. The little girl can't be more than five years old, and Lance briefly wonders what they can be talking about.

It doesn't really matter, and his attention is a fleeting thing, anyway.

They are only three in the room, and he can't help thinking the silence is oppressive. He takes his phone out and starts playing.

Finally, his name is called. A woman with long black hair, Chinese features, and lips painted dark red is standing in front of him. She is quite intimidating. "Lance McClain?" She reads from her file.

He nods. "Yes, that's me."

He stands up, and realizes that even with her heels, she is a tiny thing.

He follows her to her office.

She invites him to sit with a flick of her hand. She takes place at her desk, in front of him. "Are you already a patient at this clinic?3 He shakes his head. "I'll need your contact details then."

She enters them as he spells it out for her.

"Done. Now moving on to the important part. What are you here for, Mr. McClain?"

He fidgets, staring at his hand. He runs his thumb on a small scar along the palm. He cut himself on glass when he was twelve. "I have a cough," he mumbles.

"That doesn't sound very bad," Mrs. Jia comments. "Hardly anything important enough for a college student to come."

Lance sort of curses her perceptibility . "It's not a... normal cough. I cough... flowers."

Mrs. Jia frowns.

"I know, it sounds completely crazy!" Lance amends. "But I swear I'm not lying."

Mrs. Jia shakes her head. She clicks on her pen, a pensive look on her face. "I do believe you. I am just... quite concerned. I have heard of this disease before... Could you wait a minute?"

He nods. She starts typing on her computer, a focused look in her eyes. Her lips are pursed. She stops typing, and her gaze starts darkening the longer she spends reading. "As I thought, it is quite concerning."

Lance's heart is thumping hard in his chest. His shoulders are tensed, and he feels hot. "What is it?"

"It is called Hanahaki disease," the doctor supplies. "It originates from Japan, and is a rare disease. Only a small percentage of the population are even at risk of catching it. The simplest way to put it is... Flowers start to grow in your lung."

"I'm sorry?" Lance cannot believe his ears. "Flowers are growing in my lungs?"

Mrs. Jia nods solemnly. "Of course, I cannot be sure before I have made an X-Ray and some tests."

Flowers, Lance repeats in his head. "How... can they develop?"

"I am not familiar with how it works but... it seems a cocktail of chemicals in your brain created by unrequited love is the cause. It offers the necessary nutrients for flowers to grow."

Unrequited love, huh. Keith's face appears in his mind, the gentle smile he has sometimes, when Lance makes a particularly bad joke. "Is there... ways to cure it?"

Mrs. Jia smiles, but there is a forced and sad curve to it. "Yes, two. One, you disclose your feelings to the person. If they return it, the serotonin fabricated by your brain because of love will be enough to kill the flowers."

"And if they don't?"

"Operation."

For a moment, Lance can't breathe. He is drowning in his own fears, in his own thoughts, and he just can't catch his breath.

Unrequited love is the problem. What a tragic way to end, he thinks sarcastically. It is perfect for his drama queen lifestyle.

He counts his inspirations, slowly, until he reaches ten. He raises his eyes. Mrs. Jia is looking at him with concerned eyes. "What does- The after effect of the operation, what are they?"

"Apart from the risks an operation of this scale bears, it means... losing the feelings. Completely. You will loose the ability to feel love for this particular person ever again."

"Love? What type of love? Is friendship still possible?"

The doctor makes a grimace. "I'm afraid not. Friendship and romantic love are very close to their molecular levels. It is possible you may still feel some sort of platonic love for them, but... I don't want to get your hopes up."

Lance shudders. He wants to cry and a scream is clawing at his throat. Mrs. Jia stands up and gently rubs his back. "Why don't you... go home for the moment? Come back in two days. We will do the tests then. I will clear my morning for you."

He bows his head. "Thank you, Doctor," he murmurs.

His return home, he barely remembers his return home. He's not quite sure how he made it back home. He takes his shoes off.

Fortunately, Pidge and Hunk are in class.

He raids the fridge for ice cream and whipped cream. He puts on the saddest movie he can find on Netflix. It's easier to cry when you are tricking yourself in thinking the tears are not for you.

__

"You look like hell," Keith notes when he sees him the next day.

Lance yawns, and rubs his eyes. "I haven't slept well."

"Oh." Keith blinks, his eyes roving over Lance's face. Unexpectedly soft, he raises a hand. His fingers brush the bags under Lance's eyes. Lance forgets how to breathe for an instant.

Keith seems to realize what he's doing. He retracts his hand like he's been burned. "Sorry," he apologizes, automatically. "That was weird, wasn't it? I don't know what's appropriate in a friendship."

"It's... a bit surprising," Lance admits, "but there is no rule in a friendship. I'm just- Not used to you touching me, I guess? You seem uncomfortable with contact."

Keith blushes and tugs at his hair. Lance wants to run his hands through his black strands. He fixes his gaze on the mole under Keith's lips instead, to distract him. It doesn't work as well as he expected it.

"I don't like touching people I don't know," Keith confesses. "I need to be comfortable with them to willingly want to touch them."

Lance suddenly wants to fly himself out of the window. Keith just admitted that he valued him as a friend, and the only thing Lance can think off are his disgusting feelings.

Keith pulls him out of his reverie by shaking his hand in front of his face. "Hello, are you there?"

Lance blinks. "Yes, I am. Too bad I wasn't abducted by aliens?"

Keith laughs, a soft little sound that pulls at Lance's heart. He watches him with affection swelling in his throat and he realizes, he won't be feeling this anymore. If he does the operation, all this affection, this warm fondness which has more to do with his friendship with Keith than romantic love, will be gone.

It hits him like a ball in the face, and he feels all choked up on too many feelings.

"You are looking terrible," Keith repeats. "You are all pale. Are you sure you shouldn't go see a doctor?"

Lance shakes his head. The movement makes him feel dizzy, and he has to hold himself on the wall. "I went yesterday. She gave me meds, don't worry," he reassures Keith. "I'll be all fine by tomorrow."

Keith scowls, clearly displeased with his answer. Lance believes he's gonna push for a moment, but he backs off, strangely. He crosses his arms. "Fine," he snaps. "But you are an idiot."

Lance couldn't agree with him more. A bitter laugh falls out of his mouth, a bit out of his control. Keith throws him an angry and worried look. He scoffs and goes back to his apartment, muttering something about how he didn't ask to become friend with a moron.

Lance realizes, as he watches him leave, that he only has one certitude. He'd up anything for Keith to keep him as a friend.

___

Lance, as he writes down what he needs to prepare for Keith's birthday quickly realizes row things:

  1. He sucks at painting and/or drawing
  2. He needs to keep Keith out of his apartment.



He clicks his pen, thinking. He remembers that Allura, which he friended on Instagram, is amazing at DIY stuff.

He messages her, explains his project. She answers in the same minute, and Lance wonders if in another life he'd be over the moon she'd answered so quickly. He only feels satisfied now. He coughs. It racks his chest and several petals fly from his mouth.

They decide to meet the day after for coffee. Lance schedules it right after his doctor appointment.

He doesn't understand what this disease is. But he's only sure of one thing, he will not do the operation. Not right away at least. He wants to hold onto his feelings for as long as he can, because loving someone... loving someone is a precious thing.

Mrs. Jia looks contrite as he explains that. "I am quite concerned for you, Lance," she sighs. "I'm not sure you understand, but the longer you wait, the more you are at risk."

He's lying on the table, his shirt off, waiting for the X-Ray machine to be done. "December 6th," Lance tells her. "We can schedule it that day."

She nods, her lips tight, and her black eyes sharp. "Fine. But you absolutely must not miss it. We are already pushing it too much."

It's a relief to see Allura after that. She may be scary, but she has a certain motherly feeling about her. She smiles, waving when she sees him.

He takes off his coat and scarf and sits in front of her. She's wearing a pink turtleneck that contrasts prettily with her dark brown skin. Her lips are painted pink too, to match. Lance thinks he made the right decision when he chose her as an artist.

"How are you, Lance?"

"Good, thanks."

"Did you like the hockey game?" She asks, smiling sweetly. Lance knows she has other motives, but she doesn't pretend to hide them.

"I did. Keith explained the rules to me, but honestly, I had no idea what was going on half the time," he admits. "It was... nice, though."

Allura's eyes are soft as she watches him pull out his ideas from his bag. He spreads pictures and scribbles on the table. He has prices written down, different medium, constellations.

"This is... quite thorough research," Allura notes, as she takes in everything. She looks up and stares at him. Lance fidgets under her intense gaze. Her blue eyes are unnerving. She leans back in her chair. "I wouldn't dare presume but... I believe my doubts are founded. Do you like Keith?"

He doesn't quite know what to do. His hands freeze, and he stares at his lap. Words are stuck in his throat. He's met Allura twice, and she figured it out. Is he that transparent? Panic is swirling in his mind, sends his heart racing. "Why- why would you ask that?" He chokes out. He grips his cup, and brings it to his lips in an attempt to hide his face.

Allura brushes her fingers against his hand, gentle. "I won't say anything to Keith," she says. "And it's the care you put into this present that ticked me off."

Every muscle in Lance's body relaxes one by one. Tension leaves him, and he feels tired and maybe a bit sad. His appointment to the doctor, and Allura's figuring his heart out has drained him. He almost wants to tell her about the disease. Hanahaki, he reminds himself.

But this one secret, he can't give it away. "Please, don't tell him," he pleads.

"I won't," she promises again. She draws a sketchbook from her backpack and opens it. "So, for the design, what did you have in mind?"

Lance gathers the pictures he found the most beautiful, and lays them on the table. "Well, something like this-"

__

Lance knocks on Keith's door on the morning of his birthday. He's planned things, but it would be weird if he wasn't obnoxious about wishing him a happy birthday, as Pidge had rightfully pointed out.

When Keith opens his door, his eyes still blurry with sleep and his hair sticking out, Lance's heart clenches in his chest. He takes a sharp breath in, and then forces himself to smile as wide as he can. "What?" Keith mutters, definitely annoyed to be awoken as such an early hour.

Lance grins, the corner of his mouth almost hurting. "Happy birthday!" He shouts, and throws confetti all over Keith.

Keith gasps, horrified eyes staring at the falling confetti everywhere. "Lance, you are fucking dead."

He throws himself at Lance who trips on his own feet, and both fall backward. Keith takes advantage of Lance's distraction to tickle him. Lance screeches pleading for mercy. "Stop it! Stop it!"

"You deserve it, you bastard," Keith defends himself. He climbs off Lance.

Lance, on the floor, gazes at him. Keith bites his lips, and tucks one of his hair strand behind his ear. Lance wishes he could be the one to do that. He wishes so hard, his chest aches, and it sends him in coughing feat.

He's careful to cough in his hand. He quickly closes his fingers over the handful of petals in his palm. He has trouble catching his breath, and Keith sends him a concerned look.

"I told you to go see the doctor," he reminds Lance.

"I did!" Lance complains, because he did, that's the truth.

Keith rolls his eyes and stands up. He pulls his sleeves over his fingers. "Thank you for the birthday wishes."

Lance grins at him.

Keith invites him inside. They huddle up on the couch to watch a movie as they wait for Shiro to come. Keith's brother, who Lance has met to plan the birthday gift, is coming in two hours. He'll sweep Keith away, and keep him out of the house for the rest of the day.

They fight over what to watch. Lance is feeling like a Disney, and Keith insists he wants to watch Pacific Rim. After a dangerous match for the telecommand, which involves a lot of squirming on the couch, and both of them thrown at least twice on the floor, they settle for a crime show.

Keith makes fun of Lance's disgusting faces, and Lance spends the entire time commenting on everyone's outfit.

"Really, this blazer with these pants? A real fashion faux-pas."

"Lance, she's dead. I don't think she'll care anymore."

"Well, she should."

When Shiro rings, they both do their best to fake meeting for the first time. Allura is with him. "Hunk invited me for cooking lessons!" She lies flawlessly, smiling widely. She claps her hand, and kisses Keith on the cheek, leaving a nice blue lipstick mark. "Happy birthday, Keith. I wish you the best."

Lance loves the smile Keith gives to Allura. It's a small thing, shy and warm, but so fond, so gentle, he wants to kiss it off his mouth.

He can't help the coughing, as it always comes when he thinks too much about Keith. He heaves, hides the flowers in his pocket. Breathing has become harder and harder with the passing weeks. He can't even climb the stairs anymore without feeling exhausted and breathless.

Allura frowns at him, but doesn't say anything. He is glad for it. Allura is too perceptive, and he wouldn't be able to lie convincingly to her.

Shiro throws an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Get dressed, I've got tons of things prepared for you." He grins widely, dimples on his cheek. Keith is so comfortable around Shiro, it's nice to see.

With Keith gone, they all huddle in Hunk, Pidge, and Lance's living room. The four of them reassess their plan. "White paint first, remember. It takes around 4 hours to dry and then we can do the next coat," Pidge reminds them. "We install tape around the plugs, and a tarp to protect the floor. Allura, you are in charge of the design, you'll have to pencil it over the ceiling. We have eight hours and not a minute more, from-"

They tap their alarm on their phone. "-now."

Everyone scrambles to different parts of the apartment to get change and retrieve all the necessary material. Lance pulls on a dirty old white shirt. Pidge has blue overalls on, and he wonders where they'd gotten it from. He prefers not to ask, because Pidge stories are always weird and convoluted, and until now, he'd never found a proof they were lies.

Allura, in her ratty jeans and old shirt, is still as beautiful as ever.

She fishes the keys to Keith's apartment with a grin, twirling them around her index. "I feel like I'm an agent from a spy organization," she admits.

"You are an agent for a secret paint job agency," Pidge corrects. They frown. "That sounded weird."

"I don't know, I thought it was fine," Hunk says.

"I feel like something was wrong." They make a pensive look for a few seconds, then shrugs. "Oh well, it won't change my life."

They drag the tarp inside. All four of them pull at the corners and spread it on the floor. Allura hands Hunk and Lance a paint roller, tape for Pidge, and keeps one paint brush for herself.

Lance, before he climbs on the ladder, finds his phone. Hunk sends him a look. "Lance, no."

He grins, winks. "I got access to Keith's loudspeakers," he says, and starts blasting Taylor Swift in the entire apartment.

Allura turns toward him, and he fears for his life for a handful of heartbeats. "As long as you don't have the monopoly over the music, I'm fine with it."

Lance prays, to any god, to thank them for their help in staying actively alive. "Yes, your Highness!" He accepts and fakes a small reverence.

Allura, a hand on her hips, throws her head back behind her back, in an exaggerated fashion. "Finally, the respect you owe me," she declares.

She winks, and Pidge dissolves in laughter on the floor. "I'm gonna call you princess for now on, Allura," they warn.

"Go for it," Allura allows, apparently pleased with the nickname.

After this short interlude, they go back to work. Pidge sticks the tape to the corner of the ceiling. Hunk and Lance both open the white paint. They dip their roller in it.

Fortunately, the ceiling isn't very high. Hunk only needs to stand on a stepladder. Lance has taken the normal ladder, now that Pidge is done with securing the corners.

The problem with painting a ceiling? Gravity. Paint falls back in his hair and on his shoulders. He has to be careful that none falls in his eyes.

Also, the fumes are definitely not helping his already labored breathing.

It takes them an hour and a lot of dancing and singing around the room to finish the first coat. Lance makes a perfect rendition of Shake it off by Taylor Swift. Hunk surprises them all by knowing more than half of the lyrics to Blank Space.

Allura, obviously unable to downplay it, steals their breath away with a choreography on Fair Game of Sia.

Lance, as vengeance, splatters white paints on her arms. She retaliates by throwing her brush under his shirt on his back.

They have to scrub everything away as they wait for the paint to dry.

Lance takes a shower. It is mostly cool. Hot water makes the air heavy and hard to breathe. He coughs, a dry and hard sound, and he tastes blood in his mouth. He spits petals, pale pink unmistakable on the white floor of the shower. He watches them getting swallowed by the drain, floating away in the water.

These are a physical manifestation of his feelings kind of, he thinks. Pondering in the shower can be good, but these days, it always comes back to Keith, and he ends up coughing his lungs out. Sometimes, he wonders, if they cut him open, would flowers spring out of his chest.

He is careful to leave nothing. He rinses his mouth. There are dark circles under his eyes from the sleepless nights he'd spent coughing, gasping, as he tried to breathe. He wakes up more often than not from nightmares where he drowns in a see of hydrangea.

Pink hydrangeas are synonym of love, and he thinks the universe has a very ironic way of reminding him he's in love with Keith.

He ends up sprawled on the floor, as they watch Allura and Pidge sketch their galaxy on the ceiling. He can't believe how much thought they put into it, how all the constellations are here, and how they will be marked.

Allura is mostly an unknown for him, but Hunk and Pidge are a comfortable and warm presence. He watches them. He thinks of Hunk's all encompassing hugs, of his surprising delicateness, and the gentleness of his strong wide hands. Hunk is a ball of affection and kindness wrapped in strong muscles, brown skin and tender smiles. He thinks of Pidge, of their quick wit, their fierceness, the way they take no shit, but fights against injustice.

Maybe he's a bit in love with them. It's a comforting thought, and at the same time, he feels so conflicted. He's already talking to himself like death is close. It's ridiculous. He'll get the operation and go back to his normal life.

"We can paint the galaxy," Allura declares.

They all take brushes and separate the ceiling in four parts. "Ready?" Pidge asks. "We've got two hours to finish painting and putting back the furniture. No slacking allowed!"

Painting is good. Painting makes him feel better. He is no artist, but these are his feelings, stretched out on the ceiling in a hundred of little stars. It _means_ something, much more than the petals he coughs.

_____

His heart is thumping in his chest as he waits anxiously for Keith's return. Shiro texted them five minutes ago, to tell them they were on their way back. Nervousness has slipped its way inside every nerve of his body. Hunk lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Relax. You know he will love it," he reassures.

No, Lance doesn't know. He hopes, he prays for it, but what if he doesn't? When Keith had talked about his mom, about stars, his tone had been bittersweet. Maybe Lance interpreted him wrong.

He doesn't have the time to dwell anymore on his thoughts. Keith's voice echoes in the entry of the building, flying all the way back up to the second floor. The sound of the lift going down makes his tense.

"Lance is so tensed we could probably break him in half," Pidge comments, munching on a cookie Hunk has prepared.

Cookies always seem to appear around Hunk, and no one knows how. Obviously, Lance knows the recipe to cookies, but he feels like he never actually sees Hunk cook them.

Another little mystery to add to his best friend.

The door opens. Lance jumps to his feet. He opens his door, startles Keith, who makes a little, surprised sound. He glares at Lance.

"What's the matter with you?"

Lance grins, unable to stop himself. "I missed you," he says, exaggerated kissing noise. Keith wrinkles his nose, although his mouth quirks up in a small amused grimace.

"We've got a surprise for you," Lance answers.

"Was that why Shiro held me hostage outside of my apartment for the entire day?"

Lance whistles, faking innocence.

Pidge pokes their head outside. "No, we just didn't want to see your face," they deadpan.

Shiro laughs, and Allura wraps herself around his arms, looking at him lovingly. Lance is not jealous per se, but he can't help the little twinge of envy that passes through his heart.

He distracts himself by turning to Keith. "Close your eyes," he instructs.

Keith raises a suspicious eyebrow. "I don't trust you."

Lance grins. "Can't blame you. But just this time, I promise not to do anything stupid."

Keith crosses his arms. "Fine. I will trust you for this one time. It better be worth it."

"It will," Allura says, and it's enough to convince Keith. He closes his eyes.

Lance takes his hand. Keith tangles their fingers together. He lets himself be pulled, and Lance revels in the trust Keith has given him.

He opens the door to Keith's apartment. Keith scrunches his nose. "It smells like paint."

"Keep your eyes close," Lance orders.

"I am, I am!"

Lance takes Keith's other hand, and leads him to the center of the room. They've closed all blinds, tried to keep the light out as much as possible.

They close the door behind them. It is hard to see anything.

He squeezes Keith's hand. "You can open your eyes."

Keith sucks in a sharp breath. He looks up at the galaxy painted on his ceiling. The light of the stars reflect in his eyes, and they look dark, dark, with a million of lights in them.

Keith is painfully beautiful, basking in the dim rays of the phosphorescent paint. The shadows cut his face in hard angles, sharpen the angle of his jaw, his straight nose. His lips look fuller, and the hollow of his collarbone is a pool of darkness.

Lance can't breathe. He is still holding on Keith's hand.

"This is beautiful," Keith murmurs. "How?"

Allura laughs softly. "Glow in the dark paint," she explains, because Lance cannot find his voice, cannot function. "Lance had the idea. This wouldn't exist without him."

"Happy birthday," he murmurs, and the words come out a little breathless, a little shaky.

Keith looks at him, and everything in Lance's body is fighting to kiss him. No kiss would be more appropriate than in this very occasion.

Keith lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around him. His chest is firm, his shoulders are broad. Lance grips his t-shirt in the back, and never wants to let go. He burrows his face in Keith's neck. A part of him wants to crawl inside Keith's heart and never leave. Keith smells like strawberry. Lance knows it's his shampoo. He commits Keith's body to memory, every detail, every smooth and bump he can feel under his fingers, the way Keith's hair tickles his jaw, all of it. He buries it in his chest, keeps it as a treasure.

He counts his heartbeats. Sometimes, a handful of seconds can become a moment of infinity. There is an infinite amount of numbers between 2 and 3. And between this second and the next, he enjoys every half-second, every tenth, every hundredth.

His blood is rushing to his ears. Keith lets go.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he says, in a broken voice. Lance can't see the tears, but he can hear them.

He wants to wipe them with his thumbs. He wants the salty tang of them on his tongue. He wants so much, and he can never have it.

He feels like puking. He coughs. His chest hurt. He can't seem to take in any air. Panic churns in his stomach. Fear etches itself in every cell of his body. He can hear is name shouted. His dry heaving is useless. No oxygen makes it to his lungs. His vision is blurry. He barely notices light around him.

Allura's face is over him, distorted. Keith has tears in his eyes. _Don't cry, alien head, it's your birthday_ , he wants to say. You can't talk without air. How ironic is that...

He passes out.

___

_Bip. bip. bip._

An insistent beeping wakes him up. Every muscle, every limb of his body feels heavy and useless. He doesn't even have the strength to open his eyes. There's a warm weight on his belly, and something uncomfortable in his nose.

He remembers not being able to breathe, and for a moment, he thinks it was only one of his nightmares.

He quickly realizes it wasn't.

He wriggles his fingers, and slowly, it becomes easier to move. He blinks his eyes open. The ceiling is an immaculate white. The beeping in his ear speeds minutely. The smell of antiseptic is strong in the air.

Hospital. It is unmistakable.

He goes to sit up, but a head is on his stomach. A head with dark hair spilled over the white sheet of his bed.

 _Keith_.

His movement has woken him up. For a moment, Lance considers faking being asleep. It'd be so much easier. What is he going to tell him?

 _I'm sorry, Keith, I almost died because I love you._ Great confession.

Keith blinks at him, and it's too late now. There are a few seconds of stillness, and suddenly, Keith straightens up. His eyes are ablaze with fury, his mouth is a hard line, and his eyebrows are furrowed.

"You fucking, stupid, irresponsible idiot!" He shouts.

Lance winces and tries to scoot back. His bed is small, though, and he can't go far. "I'm sorry," he apologizes. His voice is broken and small, and the words feel wrong in his mouth. They aren't enough to even mean something.

Keith grabs him by the front of his shirt. "You owe me an explanation right fucking now. I can't believe this! You endangered your life because of me? Because of my birthday? You almost died, Lance. You almost died because you pushed back a surgery!" Keith yells. "How can I take that? How can I not blame myself? Why didn't you tell me anything? Am I even your friend, do I even matter-"

"Yes!" Lance cries out. "God, yes, you matter so much. But you don't understand, Keith."

"Then talk! Tell me!"

"I have-" he chokes on his words, and it is a battle to force them out. "Hanahaki. The disease of unrequited love. Flowers are growing in my lungs, Keith, because I love and I'm not loved back."

"How can you know? Did you ask them?" Keith spits, and the words sound like venom.

"NO! No, I haven't! Lance shouts. "I haven't because they are going to feel responsible for it. And when they can't love me back, what are they gonna do?"

"It's not a when it's an _if_!"

"It doesn't matter anyway, I was just going to do the surgery," Lance stubbornly says. "I just... wanted to keep these feelings as long as I could because... they are important."

Keith settles a bit. Lance challenges him with a gaze. They stare at each other, and the silence around them is uncomfortable and heavy with secrets and unsaid things.

"Who are you in love with?" Keith asks in a murmur.

Lance looks away. He can't see Keith's face now. How sadness had carved his features sharp and hollow, the dull purple of his irises. "I can't tell you."

"Can't?" Keith's laugh is a bitter thing. "More like won't. Is it Allura?"

Lance grits his teeth. He wishes it was Allura. It would be so much simpler. Allura... she would turn him away. But Keith wouldn't, even if he doesn't like him. Keith loves too fiercely, too wholeheartedly and he's reckless. He'd force himself to love Lance, and Lance doesn't want that.

"Yes," he lies.

Keith grabs his jaw, forces Lance to look into his eyes. "That's a load of bullshit. I know you, Lance. I know when you are lying."

Lance swallows. It feels like glass is lodged in his throat. He can't look away from Keith. The softness of his lips contrasted with the harshness of his eyes, the furrow of his brows. He wants to kiss the mole under his lips, the one on his left eyelid.

Tears are on his cheeks as he desperately sobs ― " _You_ , it's you I love," the words spilling like the tears on his cheeks.

Keith sucks in a breath, and his face is a mask of pain and hurt. "Why- why didn't you-" He stumbles on his words gripping Lance's wrist too tight, too hard. "Why not tell me?"

Lance wipes angrily at his cheeks. "I didn't want to burden you. You told me how glad you were that we are friends and I couldn't- I wouldn't fuck that up. I love you too much Keith. I loved you as a friend first, and it's so important to me. What if it made everything awkward, after? Hunk and Pidge love you, and I want you to be able to be friends with them."

Keith whimpers, and holds Lance's face, his thumb smoothing along his cheeks. "Lance, Lance," he says, and he doesn't seem to be able to find his words.

Lance places his hands over Keith's on his cheeks. "I never want you to feel lonely again, Keith. Loneliness is too sad. Loneliness is too easy."

"You don't get it, do you?" Keith cries. "You don't understand, Lance. I love you." Lance's heart feels like it's broken into a million pieces digging into his chest and his lungs and he opens his mouth to say- "No. Shut up," Keith cuts him off. "You talked. It's my turn. You gave me so much. You gave me companionship, you brought me friends. I've never smiled as much with you as I did with anyone else. You shared your friends with me. You gave me time and you gave me affection. You helped me get comfortable with people, you dragged me out of my apartment. God, you don't even know. How can you have not realized?"

"Realized what?" Lance asks, and regrets it, almost, because he's not sure he wants the answer to the question.

"Your laugh. I love it so much. It's so carefree. It lights up your face and it lights up the room, and it lights up everybody around you. When you laugh, I don't know what the fuck to do with myself. And I'm not-" Keith sighs with exasperation. "-good with words. You know it, so I'm gonna do simple. I fucking love you, Lance. I'm head over heels for you. I'm so fucking in love with you, I can't even think when you smile at me."

"Are you just saying that because-"

"I'm not, so shut up. Fucking shut up and let me kiss you."

Lance does just that. He weaves his arms around Keith's neck, pulling him close. He revels in their kiss, in the press of their lips together. He's drowning in the feeling of him, of hands tugging at his hair, of his smell and his warmth, and he never wants to come up.

He pulls off, and coughs loudly. He's going to puke. He stumbles out of bed and throws himself in the bathroom. He barely has time to reach the toilets before he's vomiting flowers.

His mouth is a disgusting mess of acid bill and hydrangea. It all comes tumbling into the toilets until it forms a fucked up bouquet tossed in the water. Keith rubs his back, murmuring encouragements. Lance, in his dazed state, can feel lips pressing against his temple. His breathing is ragged, but he feels like he hasn't breathed this well in months.

"I'm... gonna get the nurse," Keith says.

___

"I'm still amazed by what you've done," Keith breathes.

Lance's cheeks hurt from how much he's been smiling. "I'm glad."

He can hear Keith moves, and suddenly, an arm is thrown over his chest. He turns his head to meet Keith's lips. The kiss is slow and languid. He brush his fingers down Keith's spine, who makes a small pleased sound.

They separate, content to bask in each other's warmth. Keith hums. "You know, Pidge has been muttering about how fucking dramatic and disgusting we are for the past two weeks."

Lance laughs. "Drama queen is my second name," he jokes.

Keith's chuckles are sweet to his ears, and he swallows them in another kiss.

"Hey Keith?"

"Mmh?"

"I lilac you."

Keith tries to smother him with a pillow.


End file.
